She ain't what she used to be.
Neither is this guy.
We have Severino. We have Warren. We have Eovaldi. Hell, we have Danny Burawa down in Scranton.
Tanaka is tender. Nova is a little hot and cold. But they're both a lot better than the 5.54 ERA our gentle giant is sporting.
Look, CC has been on a treadmill to oblivion for a couple of years now. He has flashes of his old self, just like Great Aunt Sadie has moments of complete clarity where she can rattle off every family on her Brooklyn block in 1947. But like Sadie, the CC we once knew is no longer present. They keep treating him with respect, akin to batting Jeter second last year when he was pretty awful. Enough is enough, though.
We're in a pennant race, as weird and inexplicable as that may be given this motley collection of overachieving over-the-hillers, lugnuts and a few (OK, a couple) more consistently steady hands. (That means you, Reddy Kilowatt.)
Toronto is energized by Price and Tulo. In practical terms, those two are really not enough to send the Jays to the Series, but emotionally, they're having a big impact this far. And we're playing the Jays 13 times yet, including 6 in short order.
By the way, don't even mention the hitting by our own short order. We score 20, then 2, then 13, then 1, then...you get the idea. On average, we're killing. On the field, we're killing sometimes and dying the others.
By the other way, what the fuck was Girardi doing last night by pulling red-hot
Didi Dee Dee Gregorius with the game on the line to put in a fatigued pinch-hitting McCann? They needed hits, not a game-ending home run. Dee Dee has been hitting like mad. McCann has been hitting like a mediocre guy with occasional power when he isn't hitting like my grandmother. (An exaggeration, but you get my drift.)
But back to CC. Stick a fork in the poor bastard. Put him on the DL with arm fatigue. Make some shit up, it's not like the Yankees haven't done it before. Just get him out of the freakin' rotation already. It's as close to a guaranteed loss every time around as we've got. Actually, it's pretty damn close, period.
It's over. We can't afford to be all warm and squishy about this. There's a title to win. Besides, this is the New York motherforking Yankees we're talking about here. The team that unceremoniously dumped Bernie because they couldn't find a spot for him (Beltran, they find a spot for). The manager that publicly embarrassed Jorge at the end of his career and killed his plate timing so they could show him the door. The team that called Phil Rizzuto into the office to tell him he could move to the broadcasting booth or go home after 13 years of heroic service.
Don't tell me we can't tell CC to sit down. We can't afford not to, $9 million be damned. Let him pitch when we're 10 runs ahead or behind (though if we're ahead, you might want to limit him to one inning or so, just to be safe).
Side benefit: we won't have to look at the stupid way he wears his hat or that baggy clown uniform of his anymore, either. At least Ortiz wears a respectable uniform over his fluctuating girth.
Listen. It's time to put the old horse out to pasture. It was a great career of spectacular overuse. Now, it's time to kick back and have a couple or three stuffed-crust pizzas and some Fanta Big Gulps.
Let's start acting like we actually want to win the pennant instead of the Miss Congeniality title.
FIFTY THOUSAND MOONS
Thursday, August 6, 2015
She ain't what she used to be.